


Echoes

by hardboiledbaby



Category: Battlestar Galactica (1978)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: comment_fic, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardboiledbaby/pseuds/hardboiledbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he was honest—and Starbuck usually was, with himself at least—he knew there was a part of him that was waiting for Apollo to revert to type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/361316.html?thread=63264100#t63264100) on the LJ comment_fic comm: _Battlestar Galactica ('78), Apollo/Starbuck, The faintest echo_. 
> 
> Set right before the events in the pilot ep.

If he was honest—and Starbuck usually was, with himself at least—he knew there was a part of him that was waiting for Apollo to revert to type.

His friend was, after all, the quintessential Caprican Eldest Son, born to wealth and position and everything that entailed: responsibility, not just to Adama and Ila, but to his past and his future as well. To his very destiny. Leadership in the military, then on to the political arena, to succeed his father and take his place on the Quorum of Twelve when the time was right. And then there was his responsibility to his familial duties, to marry well and to have children. 

Nowhere in that scenario was Apollo supposed to be fucking his wingman, Starbuck was fairly certain of that.

And yet.

 _Enjoy it while you can_ , the little voice in his head said mockingly. _It won't last. It can't._

The little voice was usually right. It had certainly saved his ass more than once, and he wasn't one to ignore it.

Didn't mean he had to like it, though.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears, growing louder as they came closer. Starbuck turned his head to look just as Apollo appeared from around the corner.

"Starbuck!" Apollo's voice was pitched low and a little breathless, but he sounded relieved. "You waited."

 _You'll always be the one waiting,_ taunted the little voice. 

Starbuck straightened from where he had been leaning, one shoulder against the wall, and shrugged.

"I'm sorry," Apollo said. "The meeting about the peace conference went on longer than I expected, and afterward my father wanted to have a talk. I tried to get away sooner, but...." he lifted a hand, only to drop it resignedly. "I'm sorry," he repeated. 

_Waiting for something you'll never have, even if you love him._

Starbuck shrugged again. "Duty first," he said, and he meant to sound understanding, if not exactly thrilled—he was a Warrior too, after all—but Apollo winced.

"I wish it didn't have to be," he said miserably. "Sometimes I wish—"

 _Even if he loves you._

The corridor was deserted, so Starbuck chanced a kiss, pressing his mouth to Apollo's firmly, cutting off the words and hopefully aborting the thought before it was fully formed. Starbuck didn't really want to know what Apollo wished for, even if it mirrored his own wants. Maybe especially if it did. Wishes were dangerous things.

Apollo readily fell into the kiss, his lips parting with a hungry sound. Starbuck tried not to groan aloud. 

_Dangerous. So very, very dangerous,_ the little voice warned. 

Starbuck tried to silence it, tried to lose himself in the taste of Apollo, the heat of Apollo's body against his, the rise of desire that crowded into his head and made him dizzy and aching. 

It almost worked. 

When they broke apart to take in a breath, Starbuck's heart was pounding hard, the pulsing of it loud in his ears and drowning out everything that wasn't Apollo. All that was left of his little voice was the faintest echo,

_it won't last_

_won't last_

_won't_

"I know," Starbuck whispered into Apollo's mouth before kissing him again. 

He _did_ know. But he also knew Apollo needed him. Until that changed, until something changed, Starbuck would keep on being what Apollo needed—for as long as he had to, for as long as he could. 

Aware that they were pushing their luck, Starbuck finally gathered himself, pulled back, and managed to quirk a brow. "We go on patrol in a few centares," he said, "and I can think of better ways to spend that time than standing around talking." 

"We're not exactly talking anymore," Apollo pointed out breathlessly.

"That's true. So let's go inside so we can not-stand while we not-talk." A part of Starbuck marveled at how normal he sounded. Apparently, he could revert to type, too. 

He followed Apollo into his quarters. Their footfalls echoed briefly before the door slid shut and the corridor went quiet.


End file.
